the art of getting by
by quorra laraex
Summary: The joys of being teenage fugitives.


**a/n_** based off the best.

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**the art of getting by  
**_prologue__  
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The clock reads only a few minutes after eight. The sun's still out, gleaming through the car's windows and reflecting off the driver's shades, whom is currently groaning over the remaining gas mileage left. She continuously prompts the girl in the passenger to seat to check for the faulty jewelry in the compartment. The auburn-haired teen reaches for the ziplock encasing about a dozen more faux rings – the types of rings made in imitation for women to fawn over, with the hulking diamond that was capable of glimmering even in the dead of night. She picks a random one, the first one her manicured thumb and forefinger can pull out and flicks it toward Cora, parking the Volkswagen they'd hotwired just the night before.

The two in the backseat, a mess of sprawled legs and waves of hair checked for any updates on the four missing criminals from California. The last precaution Channel Four had aired on them had called them something significantly stupid, describing them as a pact of thieves. Thank god there hadn't been any leads. Family-wise, each and every single one of them were in college, which simply removed a large obstacle out of their way. Or well – of course, robbing a (rather small) local bank on the outskirts of the city to begin with hadn't been on their agenda (nonetheless, _bucketlist_), but let's leave it at this: desperate times call for desperate measures.

And that includes stealing a car.

And whatever the hell was necessary.

One could say it'd been the anxiety of being caught that led them to this, the continuous driving and moving and shifting around from place to place, but this was the consequence, and they'd all known it, despite it never being openly said, argued, or whined about. There'd been a nonverbal communication, an understanding between the four, which made this never-ending trip at least _somewhat_ entertaining.

"Nothing," Savannah clarifies, scrolling through various websites in search of news regarding any of them. She locks her phone and undoes her seatbelt, enabling her arms to stretch behind her in a yawn.

Beside her, Blaire exits the current news article tabs on her phone before re-applying mascara onto the edges of the dark lashes surrounding orbs of hazel. In nonchalance, she corrects, "For now."

"Wait, do you guys need the wigs?" Savannah asks, recalling the multiple locks they had gotten before on the road. The brunette rummages for them in the paper bags at her feet until Katherine shakes her head and informs her that they weren't needed (yet) and instead, grabs a bag of potato chips, to which Blaire retaliates with a judgmental eye.

In the front, nods are given as Katherine unlocks the door and strolls out. She quickly eyes her reflection on the window, slightly smudging the eyeliner below her eyes in order to make it look hazardous, panic-stricken and glazed in nonexistent dry tears. She messes her hair up a bit with a simple stroke of her hands, and pulls her shirt down, just a tad – perverts were suckers.

/

On her walk from the parking lot to the gasoline mini mart, she rubs her eyes to irritate them before practically crashing through the glass doors in this rehearsed cycle. She makes her way to the cashier, eyeing her curiously, greed in those lonesome, lowlife stare. She doesn't allow her degrading thoughts on said man affect the way she expresses her tearful whines. Practiced and convincing, her pleas for help has him agitated.

"Miss, what's wrong?" he attempts to console her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She wants to shake it off, distance herself away from arm's length. But this is her part, her role. This is the easy part. It doesn't get to her, though – doesn't affect the way she's acting in trepidation. Men were scum, anyways. They all knew it. "Don't cry, what's wrong? What do you need?"

She stutters, wiping at reddening eyes whilst trying to explain. "M-my e-e-engagement ring; it's g-gone. I dropped it near the gas tanks a-and I can't find it anywhere. I-It was worth such a fortune… and m-my fiancé… Who knows what he'll do to me."

Katherine looks as if she's about to bawl now, and there's this clandestine satisfaction in the way it'd been so easy to fool the prick.

"Now don't you worry," he begins. He tugs at his too-tight shirt collar before continuing. "How about I look for that dainty ring of yours, and when I find it – which I most certainly _will_, I'll give you a call and mail it to you?"

She clasps her hands together in praise, eyes shining in false hope, "Would you really help look for it? That's amazing of you, thank you so much!"

"No problem to it," the man reassures, sliding the back of an old receipt from the last customer and a pen in her direction. "So if you'd just leave your name, your number, and address, I can guarantee that you'll be hearing from me soon enough."

She signs an alias, a character name she's heard recently on TV, seven random digits, with an address made up on the very spot. "Thank you so much, it's worth thousands. I'll be sure to repay you," she says again before telling him she had to be on her way or her fiancé would be crazy mad over why she'd be coming home so late.

After hurrying out of the shop, Cora receives her cue, flouncing around in the front of the shop to capture the man's attention as she bends down to pick up a large, gorgeous jeweled ring. She holds it against the setting sun as the cashier, name tag reading 'Ben', anxiously trails outside ready to grab the gem from her fingers. Her hand instinctively flexes, repelling his movements like a magnet as she eyes him skeptically.

"Look, that's mine," he intrudes, trying to be the most slick when he moves his hand forward to grasp it.

With a dull look plastered on her face besides the furrowed eyebrows at this guy's consistency, obnoxious chews of her bubblegum could be heard in petulance. "Look _Ben_," there's a hint of something conniving in her eyes when they flicker to his. "Finder's keepers."

"I'll…" he thinks, pivoting his head toward the gas shop. "I'll reward you!"

"With?" she blows a bubble, ennui-filled and clutching the diamond ring in front of his very gaze. An eyebrow arches, willing to listen to what he's got to offer.

/

When Cora pulls the car door open and jams the key into the ignition, there's a chocolate bar being held between her teeth, a bag of candy and alcohol in one hand, and three hundred dollars in the other. She fingers through the different radio stations, flips on the air conditioning and adjusts the gear shift, allowing Katherine's nifty hands to recount the bills and place it with the rest of the money they'd scammed. As long as they continue to be smart about gathering necessities and such, they'd be fine for the most part. Though, they did need to gather up more cash before they could rent an apartment along Chamberlain, a district just across the border of Arizona. And hopefully, before then, they'd have ditched the car some place, too.

Katherine hands the hefty compartment of twenties, hundreds, and fives to Savannah, who was in charge of keeping all their combined shit together.

"Only three hundred?" They could've pushed for some free hot dogs or _something_.

"Right?" Blaire cuts in, focusing her attention on the money and shifting her shades to the top of her head, "Last one gave at least five hundred."

"Emptied the register," Cora shrugs, pulling back onto the road. "Hey, at least I got dri—!"

Katherine, unusually quiet at that moment, breaks from her silence in sudden outburst as she scrolls through her phone, "We gotta bail the Volkswagen, it was announced missing an hour ago – plate number, details, everything. There's even a stupid picture."

Almost instantly, the rest of them, place their belongings in the paper bags, while Savannah curiously allows her mind to wander. "Weren't the Huas supposed to come back next week? I could have sworn we were supposed to have this car for another six-ish days."

"Guess not. Pack up."

**tbc.**


End file.
